


All Through the Night

by poppetawoppet



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 23:07:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppetawoppet/pseuds/poppetawoppet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for <a href="http://be-compromised.livejournal.com/60569.html?thread=741785&#t741785">this prompt</a> at <span class="ljuser i-ljuser"><a href="http://be-compromised.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://be-compromised.livejournal.com/"><b>be_compromised</b></a></span>, mostly the 'love is stronger than death' part.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	All Through the Night

Day 12

**_I, my loving vigil keeping_ **

Being human on a superhero team is never the problem. Technically with Stark, the regular folk outnumber the superheroes. Well, two superheroes and a god. But Stark has the suit, and the brains, and Clint has a bow and arrow. Several arrows, in varying types, plus training, and miles of instincts that Stark will never have, but with the suit, subtlety isn't usually an issue.

Being a human on a superhero team and in the hospital? Like breathing, for him. Hell, he's a hell of a field doctor at this point. 'Tasha too. He's certain she's saved his life this time around, and he could probably tell where they were in the owing if he wanted, but it didn't matter. No more than any of their other quirks and games.

Being a human on a superhero team, in the hospital, and in the waiting room? Not entirely unusual, although 'Tasha usually manages to leave before she's released. That she hasn't now is troubling. That and the look on Banner's face when Clint arrives is worse. (Banner always looks worried, and distracted, but this look is tired and scared as well.) Two hours (five minutes and thirty eight seconds) pass before the doctor comes. The rest of the team is there. Not Fury, but Fury knows he really isn't a part of the team, and wisely stays out of their way most of the time.

"Mr. Barton?"

Clint stands, vaguely aware that the rest of the team has as well.

"That's me."

"I'm Dr. Marks. I'm a neurologist."

"I see," Clint says. "They've filled me in somewhat, but they said no one has said anything really important."

"Well, I was waiting for her family."

Clint looks at Banner, who is rubbing his hands together. Thor's fist is flexed, ready to fight if need be. Steve and Tony are shoulder to shoulder, and they both give an imperceptible shrug.

"I, ah, hacked into the files days ago, if you really wanted to know," Stark says. "But Steve said a doctor would tell it better."

Clint nods and turns back to the doctor. "We are her family."

"You are."

"Sorry?"

The doctor peers at his chart, "Barton, Clint. Next of kin, according to my records."

"Oh."

Clint sits back down. Somewhere he's smiling, because it's just like 'Tasha to make him responsible for her, and well, he'd done the same thing years ago. The doctor sits next to him.

"Would you like to do this in private?"

Clint shakes his head, "No. I'll just tell them anyway."

The doctor clears his throat. "Mr. Barton… Ms. Romanov sustained a traumatic head injury. The swelling has gone down, and the cranium seems to be healing nicely."

"She's not awake. You wouldn't be talking to me if she was."

"No. I wasn't here for her initial surgery, and I wasn't there to say what happened when she got injured, but I specialize in the brain, and frankly, the scans and readings have been troubling. There are signs of activity, but if she was going to get better, Mr. Barton, we would have seen more by now."

"She's dead."

Clint is aware of the quiet of the room. Distant sounds of the hospital, breathing, and the rustling of Banner's shirt as he twists his hands endlessly. But nothing more.

"Physically, no. Otherwise," the doctor pauses and looks Clint in the eye, "it's quite unlikely she'll ever wake up."

Clint closes his eyes. He needs to focus, but his mind keeps leaping thoughts, trying to understand the hollowness he's feeling next to the vast confusion of everything else.

"Options," he says, opening his eyes," what are the options?"

"Long-term care, if you'd like. She doesn't have a living will, so it's up to you now. You could tell us to turn off the machines."

"Thank you doctor. I'll let you know."

The doctor nods. "I'm very sorry I couldn't do more, Mr. Barton."

Clint turns to 'Tasha's door and stares.

"What can we do?"

Clint blinks and looks at Thor, feels the heavy hand on his shoulder. "You know, I always thought we'd kill each other, some day."

"Not like this."

"No."

He looks at the door again. He feels it now, the anger at the pointlessness of it all. He turns to the team.

"Bruce, take my bag."

Banner blinks, "What?"

"My bag Bruce. They gave it to me when they released me. I'm sure it has the things I came with right?"

Banner's eyes widen, and he picks up the bag. Clint is certain he sees what is in Clint's eyes, and recognizes it.

"Tony, you can keep people out of that room, right? Pull some strings, grease some palms, work technological magic?"

Stark nods, and pulls out his phone/PDA/gadget to start typing.

"Thor, if anyone does try to go in, if it's not one of us, you can take care of that, right?"

"Yes. But—"

Clint ignores the question. He's not a team leader, he's more than happy to take his orders (and ignore the stupid ones if need be,) but it's 'Tasha, and there's little time.

"Steve?"

"Yeah, Clint?"

"Project Childhood."

"Now?" Steve looks around. "I don't think—"

"Improvise, Rogers. Focus on the audible."

"All right. What about you?"

Clint flexes his hand. He wants the bag, wants his bow and a target and a perfect wind.

"I'm going to go see my girl."

He walks into the room, and closes the door. There's a bandage around her head. Her hair is gone and her face is too still. He sits in the plastic chair and takes her hand.

"I was supposed to shoot you then. I called it Operation Target Practice, because I was an ass, and if I thought too seriously about those missions, I'd be more fucked up than I already am.

He traced a circle in her palm. She'd told his fortune in Portland, under a metal roof that leaked with the incessant rain, waiting for orders that never came. Her life line looked long enough, to him.

"I suppose the government will tell me to do it now. Can't afford to keep a broken piece of equipment, now can they?"

He laughs.

"Hell, you'd tell me to do it if you could. 'Don't make me linger, Barton. Goodbyes are overrated.'"

He leans forward, and presses his lips to hers. He murmurs in her ear.

"I don't have magic to kiss you awake. I do have to try one thing, though. Think of it as torture, if you want, before I do the deed."

Clint leans back in the chair.

"'Tasha," he begins.

*

**_Though I roam a minstrel lonely_ **

When she opens her eyes, her hands go for her guns.

 _Problem_ she thinks. Her guns aren't there, for one. For another, there's a haze around everything, magnified by the distant pain. It's somewhere in the back of her mind (her head,) but her hair falls there normally. Most important, is that she isn't sure she's even awake. There's the distant music: toy-like piano, without any of the strings of her childhood. The melody is vaguely familiar.

"'Tasha"

**(Natasha)**

The first voice is Barton. He is close, but nowhere to be seen. The second is behind her (around her) and best left the memory she's almost buried. She calls out for Clint, and makes no sound. 'Tasha turns around and surveys the area.

 _Assess the situation. Find help,_ she thinks.

To the south is a candy-striped hill, with a buffet of food gone bad, or perhaps colored a lurid green that shouldn't be real. The trees are meticulously shaped, and odd.

_I should know this_

Beyond that, it's dark, and 'Tasha knows it's the land of the second voice, a world she cannot quite dismiss. Then she hears the music again, and turns again. She walks towards it, her hands flexing. She may not have her guns, but she has her body, which has been a weapon (since she lived in the dark place) as long as she can remember. She might be dreaming, but her mind was the place she needed to be most alert.

There's a field of endless flowers, with a swing set in the middle. One of the swings is still moving, the chain in a strange hemiola with the distant music.

**Hemiola. Violin. Tchaikovsky.**

'Tasha shakes her head, dismissing her father's voice again. She walks up to the swing, and runs her hand down the line of metal. She sits in it, gently rocking back and forth.

_This is a dream. This isn't real_

There are a rainbow of kites over one hill, with a smell of a sea breeze. A meadow of butterflies is to her left. She knows without seeing that there's a picnic basket with cold fried chicken and apple pie waiting for her, and a pair of binoculars to watch all the flying things.

It's the music that moves her, a lullaby from another life, a voice she knows and wants that calls her. She stands and walks to it. At the bottom of this hill is a river.

Across it, there's a baseball stadium, a zoo, a drive-in theater, tree-houses, doll houses, bicycles with streamers, jump ropes, playgrounds, and a fair. She can spot the Ferris wheel, a Tunnel of Love, a funhouse and a sign that says she can have all the cotton candy and funnel cake she wants for free.

"Hey 'Tasha."

**Natasha**

She scans the horizon for him, and all the possible nests. The music has looped back to the beginning. It's been moments since she woke. It's been days.

_Where is he?_

'Tasha closes her eyes, and concentrates on breathing. Clint matters, and her mind files away all the sings why while simultaneously trying to stop them. Attractions are not a problem. Everything else is. She has to be immune to emotions. She mostly succeeds.

She opens her eyes again and waits. It's Clint singing the lullaby, the one the woman had been singing in Budapest, the one that made Clint shake his head about a shrinking world, because the lullaby was Irish, and the woman was Hispanic, and they were in Budapest, waiting, waiting—

_A dream. This is a dream_

'Tasha watches the Ferris wheel spin, and wonders about that.

_He said he'd take me to the fair. We'd eat cotton candy, and ride the Ferris Wheel, and kiss at the top._

She licks her lips, listening to the music. It's muffled and distant, and fading. The wheel stops, and the sun begins to set.

_Fireworks. There were going to be fireworks. And ice cream. After the barbecue._

She can smell the charcoal now, overpowering the fair food. The river is wide, but there is no bridge.

_This is a dream, imagine one, 'Tasha._

It doesn't appear.

"'Tasha"

**Natasha**

_I'm here, where are you._

**Natasha**

She shakes her head.

 _'Tasha,_ she thinks. _I'm 'Tasha here._

She'd thought of herself that way for so long now, her father would have been horrified and maybe that's why she'd latched onto Barton's nickname. Maybe it was part of clearing the ledger, she wasn't Natasha or the Black Widow, or Agent Romanov, she was 'Tasha and she had on jeans and a t-shirt and Chucks and she could have been any woman if she wanted.

It's beginning to break now, and she can feel the tear on her cheek. _Barton, you asshole, show up already. Be here. Crack a joke and make this real._

'Tasha puts a hand to her mouth, as if she's said something she hasn't meant to. _It isn't real. Isn't real unless he's here. And that isn't sunset._

"'Tasha. ( **Natasha** ) I don't know how long I can wait. Please. I'm—"

His voice dims, but she's certain he says he loves her.

"Love is…"

Her own voice startles her. She looks back ( **Natasha** ,) and the hills and meadows are gone. She turns to the river, and in the dark, the fair is disappearing. 'Tasha nods. If she runs, she might just make it.

She begins to hum, the melody of the lullaby the only sound now.

**Natasha**

_'Tasha_

She runs.

*

Day 13

**_With thy last dim journey taken, home through the night_ **

Clint puts down the storybook and turns off the music. His leg asleep, and his throat burns from talking. He takes 'Tasha's hand again.

"So I guess I've tortured you long enough. Only so much Suess I can take in one night. Plus, if Steve could have found a worse collection of children's songs, I don't know how. Guess mp3s were too much for him."

He laughs, because he's turned his head so she can't see he's crying.

"'Tasha. I don't know how long I can wait. Please. I'm so sorry. I love you."

He bows his head, knowing all these years later, he's going to have to kill her anyway.

The he hears it. The humming first. He looks up.

"Love is for children."

She has one eye open, and the waves on the monitor are going to bring a doctor, even with Thor on watch.

"Well, I have a teddy bear. And story books. Even a blankie, if you want," he says, holding it up with his free hand.

He starts to stand, but her hand holds him there.

"I jumped a river."

"'Tasha?"

She smiles. "I jumped a river, because I thought you were there."

He sits, and can hear the doctor outside, arguing.

"I don't—"

"I jumped a river, because I love you."

He blinks, and someday, he's going to ask her what she meant. Not now.

"'Tasha—"

"Sing me the lullaby again. The one from Budapest. I promise not to sleep."

"Okay," he says thickly, and clears her throat. "Sleep my child, and peace attend thee—"

By the second verse, she's singing with him.  



End file.
